“It’s alright, Trip,” Bronwyn says softly.
“For heaven's sake.” Doc moves to the door, disappears from sight, then we hear him call loudly, “Felicity? Get your ass down here, Trip’s playing up.” He clearly gets no reply, and his feet stomping up the stairs can be heard clearly.
Playing up?All the poor boy did was enter the room.
“Hey, kid.” It’s actually Freak who tries to get his attention, but then again, he’s the only one experienced with children. “You not in school? Are you homeschooled?” When the boy doesn’t respond, he tries again. “Trip, isn’t it? Hey, that’s a cool name.”
Bronwyn moves fast, leaving the coffee she was making. She crouches down, and her arm hovers as though she wants to put her arm around the child, but doesn’t want to touch him. I frown. Her face, even battered, shows an obvious care for the boy, but the lack of physical comfort seems off.
In a gentle voice, she tells him, “Trip, why don’t you go to your playroom? I’ll be there in a moment.” Still, the boy doesn’t move.
Bron looks toward us anxiously. Her hand waves toward the coffee, then at her brother. “Do you mind if…?”
Before she can finish her question, Bullseye leans over the table. “Fuck no, our need for coffee is less than your need to look after your brother.”
Mouthing,thank you, she calls Trip’s name, eventually gets his attention, and ushers him out of the kitchen.
Tempest snorts as they disappear from sight. “Guess that explains why Doc never talks about having a son. Fucker is retarded.”
Surprisingly, it’s Freak who rounds on him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth. Kid looks like he’s non-verbal. Ace was slow to start using his words, too. I reckon he has to be on the spectrum. And you know what? So is my son. With him, it shows in his advanced intelligence, though he sometimes lacks basic common sense. Hits all kids differently, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less than anyone else.”
Tempest lifts his hands defensively in the air. “Sorry, Brother. I didn’t know.”
“Well, you do now.” Freak doesn’t sound appeased.
Doc’s voice can be heard in the hallway, as can his wife’s. But he’s the only one to enter. Red veins are prominent on his face, and he’s breathing heavily as though he’s just run a mile.
“You still here?” His words are clipped.
Bullseye, having vacated his chair, leans back against the sink with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes had followed Trip as he left, like he was trying to solve a conundrum. It takes a moment for his attention to come back to the kid’s father. “Didn’t know you had a son,” he says, casually.
If anything, the colour on Doc’s face deepens, and his jaw clenches. He’s frozen for a moment, then he snarls out, “I provide medical services to your club. We’re not best buddies. My family life is none of your concern.”
Off-handedly, Tempest remarks, “Nice kid.” His eyes are fixed on Freak’s, his words obviously offered as a gesture to suggest he’s learned his lesson.
Making an abrupt turn, Doc takes a pace toward Tempest and leers into his face. “Don’t be fucking sarcastic. Kid’s a disgrace. He’s a fucking moron.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bullseye’s arm shoot out to pin Freak in place. Before the enforcer can comment, he gets in first, “I’m not sure I like your tone.”
Honestly, Doc looks like his head’s about to explode. I wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped dead from an aneurysm on the spot. Fuck knows what his blood pressure would measure at. His mouth opens and closes until he finally chooses the words, and when he does, he spits them out. “You’re in my house. You weren’t invited. My family is none of your business.”
“Well, they kind of are,” Bullseye refutes. Pointedly, he looks around the room before he continues, “Seeing as what we give you pays for the upkeep of this house.”
I have to turn away to hide the smile on my face. Prez has backed Doc into a corner. He’s not got the high ground. Sure, hecould tell us to fuck off, and he won’t work for us anymore, but where else will he find a steady income from people who ask no questions about his past? He’d be killing his golden goose if he told us to fuck off.
Doc’s fucked and he knows it.
Taking pity on him, Bullseye pulls himself up straight. “Well, seeing as it’s unlikely we’re getting that coffee, we’ll be off.” It’s hard not to miss the look of relief on Doc’s face.
We’re just going? Without having accomplished anything except to wind Doc up?I’m scared he might take his anger out on the people weaker than him, namely his daughter, and possibly even his son and wife.
But Bullseye hasn’t quite finished. He starts to head for the door, then stops and addresses Doc straight to his face. “I hope Bronwyn doesn’t have any more accidents. If she does, we’ve got brothers with the skills to check out how to make this house safe.” He pauses and employsthatstare, the one that normally makes any recipient shiver. Doc blanches, as Bullseye adds, “Brothers who know how to remove any dangerous objects in it.”
Fuck yeah.Now that’s what I’m talking about. I’m fucking proud to call Bullseye my prez. Who else could offer such an obvious threat disguised as assistance?
From the expression on his face, Doc hasn’t missed it.
